Midnight's Door

by Robert F Barker

  'What makes you say that?' So far I'd said nothing to Mike about my meeting with Carver's SOCA colleague, my discussions with Winston. My reasoning was, the less he knows the better. And while events had overtaken us, my view hadn't changed.

  I shrugged. 'Something may have come up. It might still do.'

  'You're living in cloud-cuckoo-land,' Mike said. 'Let's face it, as from today, DoorSecure's finished.'

  'Whoa,' I said, putting down my coffee. 'Isn't that a little premature? The business is still viable, even without Midnight's.'

  'But it's not just Midnight's. There's Frank's other clubs as well. With them gone what have we got? A dozen pubs and some clubs, none of which are close to the size of Midnight's? Plus, once word gets round we've been kicked out, no one will want to know us.'

  I fidgeted in my chair. Truth was, Mike’s negativity was beginning to get up my nose. 'You may be right in the end. But I've spent a long time building up my reputation in this town. I'm not ready to give up on all that just yet.'

  Mike smirked into his coffee. 'Depends which reputation you're talking about.'

  I stared at him. 'What's that supposed to mean?'

  He backtracked. 'Nothing. I was joking.' He checked his watch. 'Look, let's talk about this in the morning, when we've both had a chance to think about things.' As he rose, he looked over to where the big bay window looks out over the eighteenth hole and the surrounding fairways. He checked his watch again. 'I'll see you in the office. Early. We'll work a out a plan, okay?' He seemed anxious to get away.

  I nodded. 'Right.'

  About to go, he stopped. 'Thanks for coming, Danny. I appreciate you letting me know.'

  As he disappeared through to the Changing Rooms to get back into his golf shoes, I thought about what it says about someone when they can't wait to get back to a golf match having just learned their business may be about to go tits-up.

  Ricky Mason lives in a sixties-built semi-detached in the Orford area. It isn't much to look at from the outside and the area isn't the best, but Sharon is a good homemaker and keeps it clean and tidy, which isn't easy with four kids running around the place.

  Ricky's VW Passat was parked outside so I knew he was in. As I passed it to walk up the path, I checked it out.

  Sharon's smile when she opened the door was the brightest thing I'd seen in a while. It went a little way to cheering me up, but not much. I wondered if it would be there by the end of the day.

  'Danny. Lovely to see you. Ricky's out back.'

  She led me through the house to the back garden. As we went, I had to avoid stepping on toys or knocking over kids that came running up to wrap themselves round my legs. I responded as best I could to their raucous greetings, which was difficult considering the reason for my visit. In the back garden, Ricky was busy with a spade, turning over sods in the tiny vegetable patch.

  'Look who's here,' Sharon said.

  When Ricky turned and saw me, his face showed none of the enthusiasm it usually does when we bump into each other. Nevertheless he still effected a cheery, 'Aye-up Danny.'

  'Hey Ricky.' I turned to Sharon. 'I'd love a coffee, Shaz, if the kettle's on.'

  'Coming up. Like a biscuit?' I declined. Truth was I'd had my quota for the morning, but it got rid of her.

  Ricky resumed his attack on a couple of sods. 'What brings you here, Captain?'

  'Just called for a chat, mate.'

  He paused long enough to throw me a wary look.

  'Yeah? What about?'

  I waited until he realised I was waiting for his full attention. He stopped digging and straightened up.

  'You heard about my little problem with the police?'

  'Uh-huh.'

  'And you heard what it was about?'

  'Someone said it was something to do with Ged Reilly?' In all the years I'd known Ricky, it was the first time he couldn't look me in the face.

  'It was everything to do with Ged Reilly.'

  'Yeah?'

  I waited again. Eventually, he lifted his head and our eyes met. I could see he was having difficulty holding it together. Deep down, Ricky is as honest as the day's long.

  Sharon arrived with the coffee. I looked at Ricky. His face said, Not here.

  'Sorry Shaz,' I said. 'We've decided to go to the pub. It's time I bought my mate a pint.'

  I took him to The Albion. Neither of us are particularly known there. I sat Ricky at the most out-of-the-way table we could find while I went to the bar. As I made my way back with two pints of bitter in hand, I could see Ricky's knees jigging under the table, his hands twiddling in his lap.

  Taking my seat I said, 'I noticed your Passat's got a nice new set of wheels.'

  He looked at me across the table and, just for a second, I saw him grappling over whether to try to bluff it out. Then his face caved, he dropped his head and his shoulders shook as the tears came.

  'Christ Danny. I'm sorry. I'm so sorry.'

  I pushed his glass towards him. 'Have a drink.'

  He supped long and slow, gathering himself. I waited, saying nothing. Eventually he put his glass down. 'I needed the money. I was desperate.'

  'You could have asked me.'

  He shook his head. 'The car needed tyres. The gas board's insisting we replace the boiler and the kids all need uniforms for the new school year. You've been good to us Danny, but I couldn't ask you again.'

  'So you dropped me to the police for Ged Reilly.'

  He looked horrified. 'God no, Danny. I'd never do that.'

  I gave him an even stare. Like I say, Ricky's not into deceit.

  'How much?'

  'A grand.'

  I shook my head. The going rate for treachery these days.

  I said, 'Tell me about Ged.'

  He picked up his pint, drank it straight down, then went to the bar and came back with two more. Then he began. He told me how, two weeks after the night I went looking for Ged Reilly but missed him, Ricky heard Ged was lying low at his brother-in-law’s. 'He was shitting himself,' he said. 'Apparently he was convinced you were going to take him out for fingering me in Havana's.' Ged's plan, Ricky said, was to wait until he knew I was out of town then do a runner. He'd been heard talking about going to Thailand where there was a woman he'd been stringing along for a couple of years. Ricky never said a word to anybody but staked the house out for three days and nights, eating and sleeping in his car. Eventually, at one o'clock in the morning, Ged came out, got into his car and drove off. Ricky followed and managed to force him off the road just outside Winwick. At first Ged thought I was with him, and when he realised Ricky was on his own, tried buying him off. But Ricky wasn't interested in money. Ged had ruined his career, his whole life at that time. There was only one thing on Ricky's mind - giving Ged some of what his Liverpool connections had meted out to him. Only things didn't go as planned. In the process of giving Ged the hiding he richly deserved, Ged tried to get away by jumping across a ditch. He misjudged it and fell onto an old tree branch that was sticking up. It penetrated deep into his chest. He must have died at once. Ricky panicked. He buried him in the woods just outside Winwick and got rid of his car through Eddie Meers's scrap yard.

  I waited while Ricky took another long swig. Nothing he'd told me so far had come as any great surprise. As soon as DCI Welbeck mentioned about my phone being found with Ged's body, I knew Ricky had to have been involved, though I hadn't known the detail of course. Now he was saying that Ged died because of an accident. I believed him. Ricky may be daft, but he's not into wasting people.

  'Tell me about my phone.'

  The look of shame in Ricky's face as his head went down confirmed my worst suspicions, though I still needed to hear it from him.

  He shook his head. 'During the days Ged was laying low, people were already beginning to say you'd aced him. Not me of course. I know you better than that. I visited you in your office. Your phone was on the desk and I slipped it into my pocket. I don't know what I was thinking. My head was all messed u
p. I guess I'd already made my mind up that if I got the chance, I was going to sort Ged out.'

  'And you took my phone so you could frame me.'

  'I know it looks that way now, Danny, but honest to God. It wasn't like I planned it or anything.'

  'But when you buried Ged you still managed to throw my phone in with the body.'

  'Like I said, I was panicking. I wasn't thinking straight. I thought that if I could make the police look somewhere else, then they wouldn't look at me. I thought there was no-way they could pin Ged's death on you just on the basis of finding your phone so I knew you'd be okay.'

  'You couldn't know that for sure. And it hasn't stopped them trying.'

  He started crying again. 'I know. I'm sorry Danny.'

  I supped my pint. 'We were best mates Ricky. I was looking out for you.'

  'I know.' The tears were flowing now, like a river. And I still hadn't asked the sixty-thousand dollar question. I did so now.

  'How did the police come to find the body?'

  He squeezed his eyes tight. Forcing back tears.

  'A couple of weeks ago someone asked me if I knew anything about Ged's disappearance, if you were involved. They said there was big money in it. I didn't say anything about you, I just told them where the body was. They must have passed it onto the police. Honest to God Danny if I'd known, I'd never have told him.'

  'Who is this someone you keep talking about. Is it the Russian?'

  'No.' As he shook his head, a strange look came into his face. It took me a moment to recognise it as fear. In fact, he was terrified.

  'So who was it?' I said.

  Ricky looked up from his pint. 'You're not going to like it.'

  As I stared at Ricky waiting for me to tell him to give me the name, a feeling like nothing I'd experienced before came over me. I guess you could say it was a bit like a, 'feeling of impending doom.' And it was at that moment I realised that by confronting Ricky, I'd let a Genie out of the bottle, and it was going to change everything. I swallowed and said, 'Tell me.'

  Seconds later, I knew I was right.

  CHAPTER 47

  Monday

  The next morning I woke early, nursing a feeling like jet-lag. It had been another of those nights where sleep had taken its time coming. On top of the alcohol-fuelled stupor of the night before, I could feel it all building up. At least, my body could.

  It was a real cocktail that kept me awake. The events of Saturday night. My depressing meeting with Mike. The even more depressing discoveries that came out of my meeting with Ricky. They all kept running through my mind, as if battling over the right to stay longest. Top of them all, there was the phone call to Vicki.

  After showing her my ability to wallow in self-pity the previous morning, not to mention my complete lack of anything that could be called a backbone, I felt I owed her an apology, as well as some explanations. My mistake was choosing to broach it over the phone. With hindsight, I should have just gotten in my truck, driven over to her flat and rung the bell. But it was the fear thing that stopped me. Like I've said before, Vicki scares me to death. Then there was the embarrassment factor. I guess I was worried she would laugh in my face, having discovered that far from being 'the hardest man in Warrington', I was, in fact, a complete wimp.

  The conversation ended up being stilted. Full of misunderstandings, badly-expressed thoughts and feelings, long pauses during which we both struggled to work out what the other was trying to say. At least, that was my take on it. She was probably thinking, how do I get rid of this lemon? I suppose I'd hoped she would invite me over, in which case I'd have been out the door like a shot. Only she didn't. The reasons why she didn't had contributed to all the tossing and turning.

  For once I was ready and waiting for Mike in the office when he arrived. Over the first coffee of the day we picked up on the discussion we'd started the day before. But Mike seemed even less inclined to get into exploring the options that might keep us in business than he was over the Golf Club's bacon butties. I didn't push it, and was happy when Mike made vague noises about letting things ride for a couple of days while we 'see what comes out in the wash'. In truth, that suited me. I wasn't yet ready to challenge Mike over the reasons for his lack of concern that DoorSecure might be in trouble. Besides, other matters needed my attention.

  The first was ringing Jamie Carver, which I did soon as I left Mike - I had no intention of sharing my plans with him - and got back to my truck. Normally I wouldn't bother Carver first thing on a Monday morning. He's told me before it's the busiest time of the week for him, but that morning he seemed happy to give me his time.

  'I heard what happened.,' he said. 'Any signs of Frank changing his mind?'

  'No. And I don't think he will unless someone changes it for him.'

  'This thing with Winston you mean?'

  'And his brothers.'

  'Them too. But how will it work if you've not got the door?'

  'Leave that with me. I've got a couple of ideas.'

  'You still want me to ring Will?' I still only knew Carver's NCA mate as, 'Will.'

  'Yes.'

  'In that case you better tell me how you see it panning out. He'll want to know.'

  Over the next fifteen minutes we talked through the details. There were a couple of points where Carver expressed doubts. But when I reminded him of the alternative, and Yashin's ambitions, his resistance lessened. Eventually he said, 'I'll speak with Will and get back to you.'

  'One other thing.'

  'Go on.'

  I took a deep breath. 'I know what happened to Ged Reilly.'

  There was a pause. 'Do you want to tell me?'

  'Not sure yet. Depends how things turn out. I can tell you he wasn't deliberately murdered.'

  'Hmm. My advice?'

  It was my turn to say, 'Go on.'

  'When you're in the frame for murder, don't piss about. If you know something, you've got to share it.'

  'It's complicated.'

  'It always is. My advice sticks.'

  'I'll bear it in mind.'

  'Do.' He rang off.

  Next, I rang Winston. It was a shorter call. I only had one question.

  'When can I meet your brothers?'

  CHAPTER 48

  I can still remember the first time I called on Lucy Maddocks. I was fourteen and it was my first attempt at a proper date. I'd arranged to take her to the pictures. As I stood there, waiting for her dad to come to the door - it was always the dad in those days - I discovered for the first time what it was like to suffer from nerves. And I mean real nerves, as in pounding heart, dry throat, sweaty palms, a hot/cold thing going on, the works. I still see Lucy occasionally. She works on the tills at Tesco. Let's just say the years haven't been kind. Six kids before turning thirty probably had something to do with it.

  The nervousness I experienced on Lucy's doorstep that night returned the moment I pressed my thumb to Vicki's doorbell, having decided to call in on my way back from meeting with Gabriel and Anthony. When a patch of ground to my left lit up, I knew she had opened the blinds above to see who it was. I didn't look up or make a point of showing myself. My truck was parked under a street lamp in one of the bays out front. She would either come to the door, or not. The two minutes that passed before I heard her descending the stairs were the longest I've ever experienced.

  The door opened and she stood there, looking straight at me. She was wearing a white v-neck top, black leggings and slip-on trainers. The sheen on her skin and the flush in her face made me wonder if she'd been watching some fitness DVD.

  'Hi,' I said.

  'Hi,' she came back. Nothing else. And I mean, nothing.

  'I think maybe it's time we talked. Properly.'

  She seemed to consider it, then gave a slow nod. She stepped back and swung the door open.

  Fifteen minutes later, I was sitting on her couch holding a glass tumbler containing a reassuring measure of JD. She was in the chair opposite, nursing her wine. The way she'd t
ucked her legs under as she'd listened, looking at me through narrowed eyes, had made me think of a cat, waiting in long grass for a mouse to make its move. But the expression on her face at that moment was the sort a parent might adopt when trying to decide whether to buy their teenage son's/daughter's excuse as to how they came to be excluded from school.

  She sipped from her glass then said, 'I've never heard of something called, 'A Lone Ranger Complex.'

  'That's how the psychologist described it. I don't think it's a medical term.'

  'Really?'

  It was a second before I realised. I'd just been thick again. I continued.

  'Whatever it's called, it's part of me. Like I said, I thought it had gone away, until last Wednesday.'

  She looked thoughtful. 'People say you got in trouble years ago for nearly killing someone.' I nodded. 'Was that this... complex thing?'

  I nodded again, told her about Kevin Campbell. When I'd finished she sat there, watching the wine swirl in her glass as she twirled the stem.

  'So you're saying this only happens when you're trying to protect someone, especially if they’re close?'

  'Yes.'

  'And that's what happened with Vincent?'

  'I know it sounds like I'm making excuses, but believe me, it's the truth.'

  She gave another slow nod. 'I believe you.'

  I started. 'You do?'

  She took another drink. 'It explains a couple of things. A lot of things, actually.'

  'Such as?'

  'Such as how you can be so...' She wafted a hand, 'Scary, one moment, and... nice, the next.'

  'I'm scary?'

  'Only sometimes.'

  'That's alright then.'

  She smiled. 'Don't shoot the messenger. I'm only telling you how others see you.'

  'What about you? Do you think I'm scary?'

  She weighed it. 'I used to.'

  'And now?'

  She hesitated in a way I wasn't entirely comfortable with. 'Not so much.' But she must have read my face because then she said, 'I'll re-phrase that. No. Now that you've told me about your condition, I'm not scared of you at all.'

  'Good.'